York
by Joey Zalusky
Summary: This is a fan story about Red vs. Blue's Freelancer Agent York. I absolutely love York, and what better to do with a character you love than write about him/her/it? ANYWAY- I'm pretty new to this publishing stuff, so I'll probably change some stuff around. Also I found the Red vs. Blue category! Hooray! Sorry the chapters are short, by the way. They'll be longer along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Mission log. This is Freelancer Agent York reporting in on the events of my- no, no, no. This is a story, York, not a debriefing.

Ladies and gentlemen! This is Agent York. Ready to hear a… haha, good grief, never mind.

Well, by now I've introduced myself twice and you know my name. I'm Agent York, but you can just call me James. Unless Carolina or the Director's around, they like their codenames. I'm a fearless Freelancer, a master lock-picker, a bona fide badass and the life of literally every party, even the ones I'm not attending. Oh- hold on a sec. Yeah, D, I know. I can't be the life of a party I'm not at. It's a figure of speech. Or a metaphor. Or something. Anyway- this is how every great movie begins, right?- this is my story.

A story of- no. I'm not doing that.

A lot has happened lately… by lately I mean over the past several years… so much that I'm gonna have to catch you guys up on pretty much everything that's ever happened in my life, starting with when I met the woman who changed everything.

So, here we go. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Chapter One: Carolina

 _There she is again._

Same girl, same crazy-bright red hair… and same mean case of what I call the ol' RBF. She'd been coming here for weeks, and I'd fought the urge to go up and say hi every night I'd seen her. Not that I'd been watching her for weeks…

Anyway, almost every guy in the bar avoided her. There were always a select few girls around her- sort of a random batch every once in a while, but they weren't near as hostile as she was. Problem is, they weren't ever as _beautiful_ as she was either.

I guess I've got a thing for redheads.

Anyway, that particular night, I was… very, _very_ drunk. It was that weird place right between just barely knowing what's going on and being so hammered you'd be trying to figure out why you've walked around the whole house and haven't found your legs in the morning. My buddies had ditched me, and I was just sitting at the counter, messing with my lighter, when it happened.

Being that drunk was probably what kept me from losing it when that amazing-looking redhead just strolled up, grabbed my lighter out of my hand and said to me… dang it. Is it possible-? Come on, York. Think. Oh, yeah- "Stop it. You're driving me nuts." Those green eyes locked onto me like laser sights on a pair of snipers.

"Sorry," I remember saying groggily, "it's about all I've got to do. Spent all the money I brought, my buddies are gone-"

She rolled her eyes. "And you built that sad story to pick up any random girl crazy enough to sit by you."

"Y'know, that would be a possibility, but I'm not clever enough for that," I replied with a grin. "Plus," I added, "I've had one too many drinks for that to be made up. I'm James, by the way." I really wanted to use a pickup line- I had a few good ones in mind- but I stopped myself. She seemed like the type of girl who'd break my skull if I pissed her off.

"Carolina."

"North or South?" I asked.

"Just… Carolina," she snarled.

"Right. Sorry."

She rolled her eyes. Seemed like she had some practice with that.

"Hey, uh…" I said groggily, "are you as drunk as I am?"

"No," said Carolina. "I'm the designated driver for those girls over there." She pointed over to her more rowdy companions. "Now if you talked to one of _them_ \- the answer would be 'oh, so much more drunker.'"

"Gotcha. Well, if I'm being honest- can I be honest?"

She glanced at me and tilted her head. "That'd be nice. Honesty is a rare quality in bar rats."

I grimaced. "Ouch." _Doesn't even need to throw a punch to leave a scar._ "If I'm being honest, I wouldn't bother with them. The prettiest one in the bunch is standing right in front of me, and Iwaswonderingholdup-!" Carolina's fist was in the air. "You said I could be honest!"

"Never said what the consequences would be," the redhead growled.

"Look, I'm gonna have one heck of a headache in the morning as it is," I told her, "without you giving me a third eye. By the way you're acting, I could've just called you a slut. It was a compliment, Carolina."

Her eyes flicked away from me briefly, then back to me. "I know what men like you give out compliments for."

"As a lead up to be dropped off safely at my place?" I quipped. "All I need is a ride home. My car's here, but no way am I driving myself."

Her mouth opened briefly; her fist was still in the air. It was at that moment that I saw someone behind her.

"Mind letting your hand down, beautiful?" asked a big-bearded, biker-gang type of guy I'd hung out with before. He and two other guys were walking up behind Carolina. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't have to deal with somebody who upsets you. Come on over and sit by me, would you?"

Carolina's entire face darkened. I'd seen people get pissed before, but not like that. Her eyes darkened, narrowing until all I saw were green pinpricks of wrath. Her nostrils flared, and little wrinkles appeared all the way from her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose. _Huh. That's actually kinda cute._ I saw the muscles in her jaw widen as she clenched her teeth. To my fascination, her whole body seemed to join in the transformation. The hand holding my lighter clenched into a fist; I almost reminded her she had a sharp piece of metal in her hand. I saw her shoulders tighten; her chest expanded as she took in a deep breath.

Suddenly, Carolina pulled a trick I'd never forget.

With a yell, she brought her right leg up and around, pulling her entire body into a jump. Turning her body until it was almost horizontal, she spun in the air and planted her right heel in the biker's jaw. Completing her spin as the biker screamed and fell to the floor, she landed in a three-point stance with my lighter in her outstretched hand.

"No. I don't think I will." Carolina's voice was dripping with menace.

 _Holy crap._

The other two bikers took several drunken steps back. One of them swore at her, the other one moved to help his friend.

Carolina slowly stood up. "Sure, James," she said, "You can ride home with us. Just don't pull anything. And I mean… _anything_."

"Yes, ma'am."

About five minutes later- took me longer than I'll admit to actually get out the door- Carolina, her three super-drunk companions and I approached the most ridiculously fancy sports car I'd ever seen. Carolina told me to take shotgun; I complied. I'd had military training, but… nothing like what I'd just seen this girl do.

She drove to various places in the city, dropping each of the drunken girls off at their homes. Most of them lived in pretty luxurious-looking joints, gates and all. Had me wondering just what kind of crowd I was mixing in with.

When the last girl, a short blonde, got out of the car and slammed the door, an awkward silence fell between Carolina and I.

"James Brown. Ex-military, correct?" asked Carolina suddenly.

I jumped in my seat; I hadn't told her my last name… or my history.

"Don't answer." Carolina put the car, a super-fancy sports car with a name I couldn't even pronounce if I wasn't drunk, into drive and we drove down the road.

"Ah, how did you-"

"I haven't been at that bar for weeks for enjoyment," snapped Carolina, "I've been watching you."

"You're into brunettes, huh?" I quipped.

"I will break your neck if you say something like that again," Carolina snarled.

"Sorry."

Carolina ignored me. "I've read your record. Watched the service clips of you in action. You were… fairly impressive to study."

"'Kay, if _this_ is how you make friends-"

"I'm not looking for a friend."

 _Oookay._ "What _are_ you looking for, then?"

"We're getting close to your apartment," Carolina told me.

"You're looking for a 'we're getting closer to your apartment?'"

"I'm looking for a soldier," Carolina said.

"What kind of soldier?" I pressed.

"The best of the best. I'm working for someone who's putting together a team of elite soldiers. He wants you to join it."

"A team of elite soldiers? What is it, then, some kinda-"

"Say Suicide Squad and I _will_ kill you."

"Understood." I grimaced.

"We're here." Carolina brought the car to a quick, smooth stop.

"You guys _do_ have a team name, right?" I asked.

"It's not a corny, movie ripoff name, if that's what you're getting at," Carolina said smoothly. Handing me a card, she said, "call this number within 24 hours if you're willing to join, and a Pelican will be at the roof of your apartment within the hour of you calling."

"A _Pelican_?" I asked, "as in, the UNSC spec-ops dropship?! What the heck am I getting myself into?"

"Read the card," Carolina exclaimed, practically kicking me out of her car.

I jumped out of the car, and Carolina stepped on the gas, flying down the road away from me.

"Crazy woman," I muttered. Quickly, I took a glance at the card. On one side was the number I was supposed to call. Flipping it over, I read one word that would change my life forever.

 _Freelancer._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Make the Call

"Freelancer."

I said the name for the tenth time that night while I laid on my bed. It was 3:30 a.m., and I was still struggling about whether or not to call the number when I heard my phone vibrate on my nightstand, startling me. _Who the heck calls at 3:30 in the morning?_

Glaring at the blindingly bright screen, I read the caller name: David.

Sighing a little, I raised the phone to my head and pressed talk. "David, what the heck?"

"James! Thank goodness, you answered."

I sighed. "Since you answered without slurring, I'll assume you either finally want the 'birds-and-bees' talk, or your car broke down."

"Neither. James, you ever heard of Project Freelancer?" asked David.

A cold chill rushed down my back. "Yeah." I glanced at the mysterious card Carolina had given me. I'd put it next to my phone, and the thing had been mocking me all night.

"You have?!"

"Redhead named Carolina gave me a card with a number on it. I've been thinking of calling it, but I'm not sure."

Silence.

"David. You still there, buddy?"

"You said a redhead?"

"Yeah. You see her too?"

He laughed. "I wish! So I was hanging out at-"

"Cut the chat, David. I need to sleep. Get to the point."

"Yes. Right. Sorry." David stammered for a moment, then continued, "Anyway, I'm just sitting there and this big- I mean _big_ bald guy comes up to me, asks me about my 'military history,' and hands me a card. Next thing I know, he's back outside and a Ferrari-lookin' thing stops in front of the club, picks him up and gets him out of there."

Being the wise, thoughtful individual I am, I gave David some advice. "I'll call if you will."

"And see _him_ again?! I don't think so."

"David, I don't think you get it. What Baldie didn't tell you is that Project Freelancer is supposed to be a team of elite- like, _elite_ soldiers."

"Like Spartans?"

I fell silent. It'd been years since even the last Spartan-IV had been seen. Since then, crime had been on the rise and the UNSC was barely holding on to the planets we'd had left after the battle with that alien threat that had left us on the brink of extinction. Could Freelancer be an effort to revive the Spartan program? Possibly connected to the Office of Naval Intelligence?

"James?" David snapped me out of my expositional daze.

"I think so," I replied, "I don't know. Whoever they are, they're using Pelicans to pick up whoever calls."

"Screw it, then. I'm calling."

I stopped. "You're calling because you get a fancy ride?"

"Why not?" asked David. "Plus it might be a chance to do some good in this messed-up galaxy."

I sighed. "Then I guess I'll call too."

"For the Pelican, right?"

I thought of Carolina's bright, intense green eyes. "Sure, David. The Pelican. And that noble cause you brought up."

"Then I guess I'll see you there."

"Guess so."

I hung up the phone and sighed heavily. Was I really about to do this? Join a shady military organization that could really just be a hoax?

I started dialing the number.

Each time my finger hit another digit, I knew it was going to be a mistake.

Either that, or the best choice I'd ever make.

Finally, all ten digits were there.

I pressed TALK.

The dial tone beeped once…

Twice…

"Hello, James."

The voice instantly made me stand up straighter. It was filled with pride, authority, ambition…

And pain.

"Have you made up your mind?" asked the voice in a calm, Southern drawl.

"I have." I had to play it cool.

"What is your decision?" asked the voice.

"I accept the offer."

"Then gather your things, James. Get on the roof. Be ready."

"Understood."

All I heard in response was the sound of my call being disconnected. Lowering the phone, I swallowed hard. I didn't have much; packing my belongings wouldn't take much longer than fifteen minutes. So I started.

Clothes, trinkets, my firearm- an old, military-issue MA5B Assault Rifle- it all fit into just two bags. Twelve years of military service… thirty-one years of life… and _this_ , two bags of clothes and odds and ends, was all I had to show for it? I really wouldn't be missed, would I? Well- apart from my landlord, who'd be missing me right around the beginning of next month.

Exiting my apartment for the last time, I walked to the roof-access stairwell and opened the door.

Every step up the stairs, I wished I'd kept my MA5B out of the bag. My own footsteps were sending shocks of paranoia up my spine. Finally, I set the bag down on the steps and pulled the rifle out. I hadn't used it in weeks, but having it slung against my shoulder, tightly gripped in both hands, felt really, _really_ good. Like I was in control.

I never knew that this would be the last time in a very long time that I'd feel like that.

Finally, both bags strapped to my shoulders and my rifle held at the ready, I shoved the door to the roof open. Looking around, I really started wishing I'd brought a flashlight.

Cautiously, I wheeled around, my rifle scouring my surroundings.

Nothing.

Sitting with my back against a smokestack, I waited.

Five minutes passed…

Twenty…

Thirty…

Then my surroundings exploded into blinding, bright light, and I was back in the military, my enemies lighting up my position.

I was going to die.

Whipping up my rifle, I very nearly opened fire when the lights went out, and there was a Pelican in front of me.

 _How the hell did that happen?_

The ramp opened up, and I kept my sights trained on it as it slowly descended. I was basically blind as a bat, but I wasn't about to let these guys know that.

"James? James Brown?" the voice, unfamiliar and loud, echoed into the night, "you're not in danger. Put the gun down, please."

 _Freelancer._ My mind snapped back to the present. _Freakin' PTSD._

"You guys with… with the ones I'm going to meet?" I asked tentatively, still trained on the ramp.

"Yes. We're with Project Freelancer. Can you promise not to shoot my ankles out when I come down?"

I sighed, my pulse finally slowing. "Yeah," I said, standing up.

"Good." I saw the figure walk down the ramp. "Come on, James. We don't have much time."

The guy couldn't have been much older than me. His face instantly put me at ease; in the dim moonlight, he had 'friendly' written all over his pale visage. A spike of blonde hair crested atop the middle of his forehead, and his eyes- steel-blue- seemed to draw me in and criticize me at the same time.

"Who are you?" I asked, taking steps toward him.

"That's not important. Put the gun down, James," the man told me, "honestly, you may as well leave it here. It's… pretty outdated. MA5B, right?"

"That's right."

"How long?"

 _Sounds like everyone for Freelancer is ex-military._ "Thirteen years. You?"

"Ten." He smiled and nodded. "James, I know you're probably skeptical. Wary. That's good. I'd be concerned if you weren't, but these people…" he shook his head with a smile. "These people know what they're doing. I can't talk about it outside of… of work, but you gotta see it to believe it."

"Consider me willing to believe," I said. "I made the call. I'm in."

"Then welcome aboard, James." the man held out his hand.

Taking several steps forward, I held the rifle over my shoulder and accepted the man's hand in a firm handshake.

Letting go, he smiled a little. "By the way, I'm Blake. But… nobody calls me that."

"Oh?" I asked, "what do they call you?"

"You might think it's silly, but they call me… North."


	3. Chapter 3

First of all, I am SO SORRY it took so long to post this next chapter! I swear I haven't forgotten about it, and I often tell myself I need to keep doing this because you guys actually like it! (So do I. I mean, it's York, how can you not, right?) So anyway, here's the third chapter!

Chapter 3: Mothership

"So, should I call you Blake or North?" It'd been nearly an hour, and Blake- or North, or whatever he wanted me to call him- had been sitting in silence. The adrenaline from making the call and meeting Blake had worn off, and the drunkenness was setting back in. Slowly turning into a hangover. Which wasn't fun.

He laughed. "North. It's a codename. North _Dakota_ , to be more specific. You'll get a special state codename yourself eventually."

I couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous that sounded. "Really. Badass super soldiers in a top-secret military organization and we're naming ourselves after North American states? What happens when we cap fifty?"

"We start over, I guess," North said thoughtfully. "Or we bring in our first international contact."

"Where we starting? China would be my guess. Not as a fighter, I mean. More of a blacksmith. After all, we need somebody to make all our stuff for us," I quipped. This North guy seemed too good to be true; I wanted to see just how good-humored he was.

However, while he let out a shocked laugh and his face contorted into a wide grin, it wasn't North who responded. "I know I'm supposed to be focused on flying," a female voice said over the intercom, "but that was one hell of a burn, James."

Startled, I looked around. "Thanks, voice of God, but where…"

"Cockpit," North told me, "she's the pilot. I'm amazed she's managed to-"

"Hey, remember who's keeping you from dying in the vacuum of space, North," the pilot snapped over the intercom. There was an edge of sharp humor in her voice. _I think I'm gonna like her._

"Yes, ma'am," North called out.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"You guys really don't sound like a group of military black ops soldiers so far," I reasoned.

North gave me a quizzical glance. "Forgotten your previous experience already, James?"

 _Previous…_ "Oh, right," I muttered, "Carolina."

"There you go. Some of us are like me. Others are like Carolina, or my sister. That woman lives and breathes Freelancer, just like the Director."

"Director?" I asked.

"You would've talked to him over the phone," North explained.

"A boss who answers his own calls?" I quipped.

"You'll find that a lot of what he does is… unconventional." North suddenly looked uncomfortable.

 _There it is. Always a skeleton or two in the closet._ "Unconventional… how?"

"Just unconventional, not illegal. Everything he does, he does for a reason," explained North, "he's just got a way of doing things that could be considered deviant to some."

"Right." I could tell I wasn't gonna get anywhere else here; North's expression had already changed. "So," I asked, "what state do you think I'm gonna get?"

"Well, so far the only ones that are taken are Carolina, North and South Dakota- South Dakota's my twin sister- Maine, Iowa and Illinois. So, maybe…" North looked down, contemplating. "Florida? Or Delaware?"

"I hope I get Texas," I said with a grin, "that's about the only badass state name out there. I'd just walk into every situation and say 'hey, I'm Agent Texas, but scum like you can refer to me as Tex.' Yeah, Tex. I like that."

"Well… on one hand, I hope you get it so you can have a badass name," North mused, "but on the other hand, I'd get sick of you bragging about getting the coolest name _real_ quick. I got a feeling- maybe more of a hope- that whoever gets Texas is gonna be cool enough about it to let their actions speak louder than words."

And he was right about that. You'll figure that out in about a year.

"We're coming up on the _Mother of Invention_." The pilot's voice flashed through the room again. "You boys better hold on, looks like we're gonna have to gun it to get on board."

"Why?" asked North.

"Because there are three pirate ships chasing the _Invention,_ North." The pilot replied.

I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe your boss' unconventional methods are catching up with him," I quipped.

"Better stow that talk," North grunted as the Pelican banked and sped up to catch what I assumed was the Freelancer flagship. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but this whole conversation is being recorded. It's a… well, a side-effect of having a careful boss."

I could hear the pilot loudly requesting permission to land.

Closing my eyes, I barely acknowledged this last statement as I leaned my head back against my headrest. _Aw hell,_ I thought, _hangover plus flight is just… just bad._ My vision blurred and my head throbbed as I felt the ship accelerate, and then suddenly-

My head whipped to the side, connecting with the metal divider between each seat as the Pelican jerked to a stop.

"Holy crap," gasped North, "that was rough."

I could feel the bile rising in my throat as nausea met hangover and I fumbled with my restraints. "Yeah- somethin' like that-"

"James, you good?" asked North.

"I'm gonna puke," I moaned.

"Well, if you are, do it in this." North casually handed me a bucket.

Beyond questioning why there was a bucket on a special ops dropship, I gratefully grabbed the bucket, unfastened my restraints and leaned forward, retching and coughing for a good six seconds.

"Oofta," muttered the pilot, "spacesickness already?"

"Carolina did report he'd needed a ride home from a bar," North explained, "that's why I brought a bucket. Gotta play it safe."

"Ugh…" I groused, "I gotta stop drinking so much."

"You won't get the chance to do much of that in the future, James," said a crisp, familiar voice.

"What the-" I looked up from the bucket, only to see her. The ramp out of the Pelican had been opened as I'd been hurling.

Bright green eyes looking down at me in disdain, her lips pursed in a near-straight line.

"Carolina," I greeted her, standing shakily, "good to see you again."

"Likewise," Carolina said, in a way that was more leaning toward 'drop dead.'

I opened my mouth to crack a wise one, but then I remembered the biker in the bar and closed my mouth.

 _That's right,_ the condescending smile that grew on Carolina's face said, _smart off and you know exactly what'll happen._

"The Director wants to meet you, James," Carolina said succinctly, "follow me."

"Yes, ma'am," I said automatically. Carolina turned and walked back down the ramp; I followed.

Stepping out of the Pelican, I looked around in awe.

The _Mother of Invention_ was _huge!_

The hangar I was in had five more Pelicans docked in it with room for one more, along with a Scorpion tank and technicians walking through it. There was more to the huge hangar, but Carolina wasn't about to let me stop and stare. "The UNSC donated this ship to the Director for his service in the war. Freelancer was under development shortly after the success of Project MJOLNIR; the Director requested a mobile base of operations. So they gave him his old ship."

"Project MJOLNIR?" I asked. "That was the Spartan project. I didn't know it had any competition, apart from all the conflict in the program itself."

"How do you mean?" Carolina asked, in a way that proved she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"I wasn't just a grunt, Carolina, I know things. There were conflicting interests in the program. One bigwig actually tried to kill the Master Chief in the first MJOLNIR test. I assumed that if the head of one division of MJOLNIR would attack one of his own, nobody wanted to find out what the two programs together would do to any competition."

Carolina actually- get this- _hesitated_ before she answered. "Yes, well… actually, Freelancer isn't as much a competitor to MJOLNIR as it is… an offspring division. Spartans were genetically modified, some from childhood, others in adulthood, depending on the iteration of the project." She glanced at me, then away.

"Permission to speak freely, ma'am?" I asked.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. "Ah- permission granted."

"You probably weren't expecting to have an intelligent conversation with a _bar rat_ like me, were you?" I asked, tilting my head.

Carolina flinched. "Stop at this elevator," she muttered, gesturing stiffly to a pair of double doors.

I obeyed.

Carolina pressed a button near the elevator doors and turned to face me, her piercing eyes boring into me again. Without hesitation, I met her intense stare. I wasn't about to let a pounding headache stop me from showing this woman that there was more to me than what I had on the surface- even though what was on the surface was pretty impressive.

Finally, the doors of the large elevator opened, and Carolina was first to break the staring contest. She walked onto the elevator without a word.

I followed behind her, trying as hard as I could to keep my balance.

The elevator started to rise, and with it my urge to puke again.

"Don't flirt with me, Brown," growled Carolina.

"Not flirting, ma'am," I responded, muscling down the nausea.

"Maybe not. If that's the case, maybe there's really more to you than that bottle suggested."

I kept silent.

Finally, the doors opened, and Carolina pointed to a door on the left side of a long hallway. "Head down there. The Director's waiting for you."

Hesitantly, I walked to the door. Instantly, it _whooshed_ open.

I stepped in.

Standing in front of a glowing blue table was a man dressed in simple, grey clothes. "James Brown. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." His slight drawl, mixed with unmistakable authority, filled the room and forced me to stand tall.

"Likewise, sir," I responded.

The man turned his head slowly. "I'm not calling you Texas," he told me, a sharp edge of cold humor in his voice.

"Understood."

A slight smile crept across the Director's face. "You're a good man, James. Some might even call you a symbol of the ideal soldier. Integrity, honor, loyalty… now, James, where exactly in the old United States of America does a similar symbol exist?" Before I could respond, the man turned around completely. Black glasses covered his eyes; a grey mustache and beard framed the hard line formed by his pale mouth. "New York. It's a bit of a long shot, to be sure, but the Statue of Liberty was and is a symbol of an ideal. That's what you'll be. Welcome to Freelancer, Agent York."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: AIs and Armor… What Color is That?

 _Agent York. I like it. Might not be badass on the surface, but it's the guy, not the name._

"Thanks," I answered.

"Sir." The steely green eyes burned into me. _Guess it runs in the family._

"Thanks… sir," I corrected myself.

"From now on, no one will call you James. James Brown disappeared last night without a trace. You are Freelancer Agent York." Reaching out, the Director pressed a button. "Maine, please come to the bridge."

"Yes, Director," a deep voice responded from a speaker.

The Director briefly acknowledged my presence before turning back to the blue hologram table that dominated the room.

Cautiously, I approached it as well. "Permission to speak, sir?" I asked, sliding back into military formality.

"Granted."

"What is all this stuff, sir?" There were different displays; they all appeared to be suits of power armor, not unlike the stuff the Spartans used to wear. I tried to brush my hand against one of the suits, a bluish-silver one holding a sniper rifle, when it moved.

 _What the-_? I tried to touch it again.

It moved. This time, a finger was held up and wagged in front of me.

 _Oh, that's it._ I poised my hand to strike, but before I could again, I felt an iron grip take hold of my wrist.

Old instincts rose up in me. Instantly, I grabbed the wrist and- screamed as an elbow crashed into my nose. Falling to the floor, I gripped my face and looked up at whoever had grabbed me.

The Director stood over me, hands behind his back. "Don't touch anything."

"Yes, sir. My apologies, sir." _So you can fight, too. More than meets the eye. I guess_ that _runs in the family, too._

"And Alpha, cut it out."

 _What?_ I stood up slowly, only to see the blue sniper standing in front of me on the table.

"Ahhhh, come on Director!" The hologram was talking! In a slightly lilting, borderline annoying tone. "He was asking for it! Besides, there's an idiot born every minute, I just wanted to make sure he hadn't been born at the thirty-second mark."

Then it turned its gaze on me.

"What's the matter, Voldemort? Somebody take your nose?" it asked me.

"What the hell?" I asked, lowering my hands from my face.

"Oh- profanity on the bridge! Profanity on the bridge!" the little hologram shrieked, his voice peaking in a grating screech. Quieting down, it quipped, "what, you've never seen an AI before? How about this guy, huh Director?" tilting its head, it asked condescendingly, "What'd they teach you in school?"

"Quiet, Alpha," snapped the Director. Looking at me, he explained, "this is our shipboard AI, designation Alpha."

"Hi." The hologram waved at me. "How's it going being named after the only state shaped like a giant T?"

"I didn't know AIs could be smartasses," I commented.

"I'd rather be a smartass than a jackass," Alpha countered.

"Touché," I replied.

Alpha suddenly twitched. "Uh-oh, the big guy's coming. Gotta make myself scarce, I'm really not supposed to show myself to too many people." With that, the little blue guy's image flickered out of existence, retracting back into the table's holographic display.

And after that, the door opened, and in walked the Freelancer I'd know as Maine.

And holy crap. He was big.

He wasn't wearing armor; a grey jacket and pants covered his massive, tall, muscular frame. His eyes, dark brown and angry, gazed impassively at me from his scowling, bald-headed face. This guy had to be nearly eight feet tall.

"Hello, Agent Maine," the Director greeted the giant, "this is Agent York. Take him to select his suit."

Maine nodded. "Yes, sir," he growled in a deep bass tone. Glancing at me, he jerked his head in the general direction of not-on-the-bridge.

Without hesitation, I walked toward him, and he turned and walked away.

Just before I left the room, I spared one last glance at the table where Alpha had been.

 _What a weird little guy. Kind of a jerk, but… it's a bit endearing, I guess._

Looking back to my tall companion, I saw that he'd already moved quite a bit farther down the hall.

Jogging to catch up with him, I glanced his way and saw that his eyes were fixed directly forward. For a moment, I thought about starting a conversation, but then the ship was rocked by an explosion!

I cried out and nearly fell; while my hangover had almost passed, I was still slightly groggy and my head still hurt.

"The hell was that?!" Maine's voice rang out in the hall. I saw him looking at me, then shaking his head and pressing his finger to a headset. Immediately, I heard a voice barking instructions to him. When the voice was done, he immediately replied, "yes, sir!" Then, looking at me, he instructed, "we need to go to the armory. Pick out a suit, get it on as fast as you can. We're being boarded. You die, we find a replacement for you." He smiled wolfishly, and I suddenly found myself wishing he never smiled again. "We'll call 'im New York."

"Got it." I nodded. "And if I live?"

"You're a Freelancer."

"So high-stakes bidding. I like it."

Maine grunted and sprinted off. Well- I think he meant to sprint. It looked more like an elephant running. Terrifying, but real easy to see coming. But that is completely beside the point.

Something happened to me in that hall as explosions shook the _Mother of Invention._ As I ran, following Maine, my adrenaline started to spike and when I saw the sign for the "Armory," I beat Maine to the door and rushed in.

I was ready. For what, I had no damn clue. But I was ready.

Looking to the end of a room filled with rows and rows of normal lockers, I saw a long wall completely covered in clear lockers that each held a unique set of power armor. I just assumed there were fifty of them, because there were supposed to be fifty Freelancers.

Running up to one case, I looked at the armor. It was a brown suit with white highlights, but other than that it was the spitting image of a suit of Mark VI MJOLNIR armor. _Unassuming, kinda plain, doesn't stick out much… but still, badass. Low-key badass. Suits me perfectly._ "This one," I told Maine.

"Hand on the handle. Put it on."

"Sure will. Y'know Maine, I love your sparkling conversational style." Finding the handle on the door, I looked for where to start putting the suit on.

Suddenly, the helmet lifted up, the armor seemed to expand off of the bodysuit underneath, and the bodysuit opened up. "Alright, York, step on in!" said a familiar voice.

"Alpha?" I asked, looking around.

"Yeah. Look, I'm not just a pretty face," snapped Alpha, "I'm a shipboard AI. Meaning, I help you out along with Phyllis. You'll meet her later. Now get into the damn suit! We're bypassing like twelve different kinds of protocol here. Move!"

Without any more hesitation, I stepped into the skin-tight suit, which instantly conformed to my admittedly impressive physique.

The glass doors of the locker slid shut as the bodysuit gelled to me. "Alright, here we go. Fastening your armor to the bodysuit. Don't move a muscle or it won't fit right," instructed Alpha. I could finally see the sharp intelligence breaking through Alpha's smartass exterior; he really knew what he was doing. Or it. I'd have to ask him… or it… what the proper pronoun was. Later.

After about three minutes of whirring, clicking and twisting, Alpha announced, "Alright, Agent York! You're ready. Now, those pirates are out there, boarding our ship. It's your job as a Freelancer to kick their collective asses to kingdom come. Choose your weapon and get moving!"

The doors to the locker slid open, and I stepped out. "Holy crap," I muttered. Everything was so much sharper. My HUD, which had popped up the moment I stepped out of the locker, was displaying my heart rate, my armor's integrity, and scanning the surrounding area for friendly FOF tags. "This is amazing."

Maine grunted.

Turning to face him, I suddenly felt significantly less badass. Maine was decked out in a white, solid suit of armor with a black bodysuit underneath. Brown shields decorated his arms, and his helmet was mostly a golden EVA helmet with lines streaked intermittently through it.  
 _And I thought you were intimidating before._

Strutting over to a weapon locker, Maine grabbed an assault rifle and jogged out the door.

Now I had to choose a weapon.

First, I grabbed what seemed the obvious choice: an M6H Magnum pistol. Checking for rounds, I looked for a holster when I felt a tug at my hip. Feeling like I could let go, I watched in fascination as the pistol affixed itself to my hip. "Damn, magnetic holster," I muttered, impressed.

"WARNING," a female voice suddenly blared out, "hostile landing pods calculated to enter the armory in T-minus ten seconds! Unprepared personnel must vacate the premises! All available Freelancer units converge on the armory!"

"The armory… that's…" I panicked, and the heart rate monitor showed the increase. My military training suddenly kicked in, and I grabbed a sniper rifle, a shotgun and several frag grenades. My headset suddenly began calculating what I could use as cover…

 _Six…Five…_

I rushed to a row of benches and tables, kicking the table over and setting up my weapons…

 _Three… Two… One…_

An explosion rocked the armory as a long spike smashed in through the wall! Fascinatingly, the vacuum of space didn't even get to take advantage of this; the pod had instantly sealed the hole with… well, itself.

Holding my sniper rifle up, I focused, easing my breathing as the bay door of the pod opened. A small army of pirates began to pour from the pod, and I focused on the lead pirate, fired and-

The bullet lanced out as the rifle's loud report barked through the armory, piercing the lead pirate… and the three behind him.

The pirates instantly began yelling in a language I couldn't understand, pointing obviously-stolen SMGs and assault rifles at me and opening fire.

I held my ground; there was valuable equipment here and I was not about to let it get stolen. Pulling the pin on a grenade, I cooked it for a moment, and then hurled it.

With an earsplitting crack and the sound of tearing flesh, the grenade erupted, eliciting agonized screams from the pirates injured by it.

By now, the pirates had figured out I wasn't someone to be trifled with.

Standing up, I dove behind a row of lockers. Running to the end of the row, I suddenly found myself face to face with a pirate. Before I even finished thinking about how I'd take him out, I'd punched him in the chest to silence his scream of warning, smashed my helmet into his smaller, weaker one, and thrust my magnum around his limp body, carrying him with me as a shield as I picked off three of his buddies. Jumping, I grabbed the unfortunate pirate's leg, spun him around and sent him flying into four more pirates.

Suddenly, the pirates facing me diverted their attention to a sound coming from the door of the armory. All but a few, that is.

The five that started to charge me, armed with knives and brass knuckles, were a field day for my magnum.

It was only when I saw the sixth one that I realized that had been the point.

This sixth pirate… wasn't human.

It was a Jiralhanae.

Standing a solid two feet taller than me, it brandished what I knew was a gravity hammer as a sick smile spread across its face. "You wear the armor of the Demons of your past," the creature, more commonly called a Brute, grated. "You will die, just as they have."

"Yeah, we'll see, fuzzball," I shot back.

With a roar, the Brute charged at me.

And, as stupid as it was, I charged it.

Watching the hammer come around, I slid on my knees and gashed the combat knife that had come with my suit across the Brute's knee, allowing the hammer to pass above my head, crackling with suppressed power.

With a yelp of pain, the Brute swung around, and-

The hammer struck me in the chest, sending me flying.

It probably should've killed me.

I hit the wall, hard; amazingly enough, my armor remained intact.

Pushing myself up onto my hands and knees, I spat blood into my visor, reaching for the shotgun I'd put on my back. I found it, but as I came around with the barrel facing the Brute, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop it.

I fired anyway.

The shotgun blasted the Brute, sending a shell-full of lead pieces into his chest.

The Brute roared, charging at me. He raised the hammer up into the air…

I prepared to fire another shot…

And suddenly, a suit of white armor appeared in front of me, arms raised high as it held the Brute's attack at bay.

Then came the green. Or… blue. Greenish-blue? Turquoise? Teal? Whatever.

It was a greenish-blue blur.

It streaked up from behind the Brute, ran up his back, grabbed the gravity hammer, tore it out of his hands and with one swift movement, covered the armory floor with a geyser of blood as the blur, which actually appeared to be another Freelancer, judging by the armor, t-ball style decapitated the Brute.

Weakly, the Brute stumbled a few feet, arms waving in the air before it crashed to the floor.

I let out a deep sigh of relief, lowering my shotgun.

Maine, having released the Brute's arms, turned and offered his hand to me. "Thanks, big guy." I accepted Maine's blood-soaked hand, grabbing his wrist and pulling myself to my feet.

The Freelancer who'd beheaded the Brute strode up to me, still holding the hammer in his hand, covered in crimson Brute blood. "Why the hell were you in here _alone_?!"

Wait. That most definitely was not a man's voice. It was also familiar.

"I was in here with Maine. Chose my suit, put it on and I was about to follow Maine when he ran out of here, but then I heard that the landing pods were headed-"

"And you didn't call for backup, you didn't have a partner, you didn't even say you were on scene…" the woman shook her head. "Who the hell even _are_ you?"

"I'm York. Agent York. The new guy."

"That means less than nothing to me. Take off your helmet."

"Yes, ma'am." I placed my shotgun on my back and removed my helmet.

I saw her stiffen as she saw my face. "James," she muttered.

"That's right," I told her.

The woman dropped the hammer and removed her own helmet. "Freelancers, helmets off," she ordered the four other armored figures in the armory. "Time to show the new guy who he's dealing with."

 _Carolina!_ "I didn't know you were in charge-"

"Of course you didn't, I never told you." The green eyes were leveled back at me, her red hair tied back in a ponytail with a few stray strands hanging down over her face. "You're hurt," she announced. "South Dakota, take Agent York to the medbay. We'll do introductions when he's healed up." I heard a few snickers when she said that.

A young woman with bleach blonde hair and pink armor with green highlights approached me and started walking me out of the armory on my right. "This way, Brute-hunter," she told me. "You can walk okay, right?"

Truth be told, I felt like collapsing. My armor had absorbed most of the blow, but I was pretty sure I'd been concussed by the blast, and I'd spat up blood. That was never good. "For now," I said.

"That's not what I asked."

"I feel dizzy," I confessed.

Without hesitation, the woman looked to her right and jerked her head my way. I felt two pairs of arms circle under mine, and I slowly felt my legs giving out.

 _But I didn't die. And I defended that armory pretty damned well. Just like Maine said, if I didn't die…_

 _I was a Freelancer._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Old Friends and New Feelings

Bright lights swam into my vision as my mind fought to regain consciousness.

Too much?

Okay, bright lights slowly blurred into view as I slowly woke up.

"Freelancers, Agent York's vitals are improving. He may wake up soon," I heard a female voice report.

"Already? Damn, looks like Illinois was right, he really is stronger than he looks. That's two drinks you owe me, North."

"That means nothing until he opens his eyes," said a voice I instantly recognized as Carolina's.

The first thing I felt was an ache in my chest. _Probably dulled by morphine,_ I reasoned. I'd been hit by a freaking Brute, and not only that, but by a damn gravity hammer.

Wincing at the lights, I said, "officer, I swear I didn't do it. You can dim the lights, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

There was silence.

"Is he hallucinating?" asked Carolina.

"Should we get the Director?"

"What's he gonna do, _order_ York to stop hallucinating?" I remembered the voice of the guy who'd brought me here… North, that was his name. Not Blake.

I opened my eyes. Immediately, I saw Carolina, and I swear I saw an emotion on her face before she saw my small smile. "Wow, you guys really can't take a joke. I'm fine," I said weakly, "no need for concern." The pain in my chest spiked as I chuckled, and I winced. "Okay, maybe a little."

"North, Iowa, step out for a moment," ordered Carolina.

"On it," North replied, starting on his way out. "See you around… York," he said with a grin and a jaunty salute.

"How do you feel?" she asked me after the other two Freelancers left.

"Slight headache, sore ribs, and _my eyes hurt because the lights are too bright._ " I tried to hint a little more obviously that the lights were too bright.

"Phyllis, dim the lights," sighed Carolina. "And call for Illinois… it might do York good to see a friendly face." Looking back at me, she tilted her head. "You're an idiot. You're aware of that, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered. "But if you're talking about how I tried to protect your fancy toys, I take offense to that remark."

" _Without a teammate,_ " snapped Carolina. Suddenly, she stopped. "What are you doing here?" she asked, looking across the room over me.

"Yeah, I just thought I'd drop in," I heard a succinct male voice say. "Carolina- I'd like to take responsibility for this. The Director told me to get York to the armory and help Maine instruct him on how to put the suit on. He didn't _have_ a partner, Maine skipped out once he'd put his suit on, and quite damn frankly, he did the best he could with what he was given. I know I bypassed protocol, but if I hadn't, things could've gone a little worse than they did."

Carolina looked hell-bent on being infuriated at me, but her face softened just the slightest bit. "Fine, Alpha. You can get rolled into the same category as York. An idiot."

"You've got that right, ma'am." A familiar voice broke into the room.

"Agent Illinois, I said I wanted the room," snapped Carolina, whirling around.

"I know, ma'am," said the voice, "but York and I have some history. Just wanted to give him a warm welcome."

Carolina was silent; I couldn't see her face as she was looking at whoever had just come in, but I felt like she wasn't glaring anymore. "Two minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," the voice said one more time.

Carolina moved aside, and I laughed. "I don't believe it!"

"Hey, James," my friend Jonathan said with a wide smile. The pasty, lean redhead I'd known for so long took a few steps my way. He had his armor on; it wasn't bulky but it wasn't small. He had his helmet tucked in one hand. "How are you, dummy?"

"Never better, considering I just got hit by a Brute," I said with a pained smile. "It's good to see you, Jon."

"It's actually Agent Illinois now," Jon corrected me. "Demolitions expert."

"And I'm Agent York," I told him, "professional punching bag and armory defender."

"Oh, I'm making that official," the blue hologram of Alpha told me.

"Please don't," I pleaded, "I take it back." Glancing quizzically at him, I asked, "what happened to 'I'm not supposed to show myself to many people?'"

"Many people meaning people who aren't part of the core group of Freelancers," Alpha corrected me. "My protocols are being screwed with all the time," he added, "sometimes it's… hard to keep things straight."

I tilted my head, feeling for the little guy. AIs relied really heavily on their protocols; having them messed with was like giving a human brain damage. "I'm sorry, Alpha," I told him.

"Eh- it happens. I'll survive."

"I'm headed back to the training room, Carolina," Illinois said abruptly. Pointing to me after he'd put his helmet on, he pointed at me. "We need to get a drink sometime."

"Damn right," I affirmed with a smile. "Good to see you again, brother."

The rounded, orange visor nodded at me, then "Illinois" was gone.

"You two know each other?" asked Carolina.

"You're interested in my social life?" I shot back.

"No," she returned evenly, "I'm asking to make sure you don't favor him over any of your teammates. Did you serve together?"

"For a while," I answered, "we spent a few days going after Insurrectionists, just the two of us. Took us nearly a week, but we dismantled a good batch of them. That's where we really became more than soldiers, we were- are- friends. I'd die for him."

"And what about the rest of us?" asked Carolina, "would you die for us?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Well… I already killed for you," I said.

"That's not what I asked. Taking a life is easy." The look on her face told me she knew that all too well. "But giving your own for someone else's… you seem like the kind of man who would do that."

I smiled a little. "Was that a compliment, ma'am?"

"An observation."

"A complimentary observation?" I quipped.

Carolina glanced at me. Suddenly, something… really, really weird happened.

Her hard, serious lips suddenly pulled up on one side, then the other, in a _smile_.

She looked down momentarily, then back at me. I saw, using my amazing intuition, that there was a lot of emotion in those eyes that was locked away. They softened for a moment as her small smile graced my eyes. "Sure. We'll call it that."

"See, I knew you could smile," I told her.

"Of course I can smile," Carolina said brusquely, the hardened expression returning. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Just nothing," she snapped.

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to keep her from putting a bigger hole in my chest.

"You need rest," she told me. "Even with the healing unit hooked up to you, it'll be a few days before you're fit to train." Carolina stood up and started walking away. Stopping at the door, she looked back at me. "You'll be good for this team, York," she added, "it's not every day we get something to smile about."

I thought about giving her a cheesy one-liner, but decided against it. Instead, I nodded. "We're still people, Carolina," I told her, "no matter how much armor we hold over ourselves… or inside ourselves… we all need something to smile about. To… I don't know, get us to the next day."

Carolina glanced down again, then up at me. _She's doing that a lot_. "That's pretty insightful… for a bar rat."

"I'm full of surprises," I returned.

"No, you're full of flesh, ribs and damaged lungs. I would know." With that, she was gone.

"She's hot for you."

I jumped; I'd completely forgotten Alpha was there. "Damn it, don't scare me like that."

"I've been here the whole time!"

"I forgot!"

Alpha scoffed, looking from the door back to me. "How do you just forget about me?"

"You've got me!" I exclaimed.

"You're hot for her, too," Alpha stated like it was a fact.

"So what if I am?" I asked. "If I was, I'd have to get through that armor to who she is."

"And what if that… you know, the combat-oriented, constantly snapping, completely serious and unable to make a joke personality she's got right now… what if that's who she is?"

I glanced quizzically at him. "That was surprisingly deep."

"Answer the damn question," Alpha snapped. His voice suddenly deepened and grew almost… savage. His blue, luminous appearance suddenly shifted to something much darker, something leaning more towards purple.

"Whoa, chill out!" I exclaimed.

"Sorry- I just gotta… get control again…" Slowly, Alpha shifted back to his original form. "Answer the question. What if the hardened exterior doesn't get any deeper?"

"Then…" I thought hard about that one. "I guess I'll have to see if I can help her learn something new. Everyone can grow. I would know," I added softly. "If I can… so can she."

"I saw the way she looked at you when she actually _smiled_ ," Alpha told me. "I've never seen her look like that. Her vitals spiked, too."

"You need to chill," I chided him.

"Why?" Alpha asked. "Carolina… means a lot to me. More to me than I think you realize. Seeing her happy… that's a pretty big deal for me." Suddenly, he blinked in and out of existence. "Whoops, the Director needs me," he stuttered, "I gotta go. That healing unit's going to do the job, but you're gonna have to sit still for a while."

"I got it," I said with a nod. "Hey, Alpha?"

"Yeah- what?"

"I'll do my best. You know, with Carolina."

The AI was silent. "You damned well better," he said softly before blinking out of the terminal.


End file.
